Jak Snapshots
by YaminekoHyousai
Summary: Jak and Daxter oneshots. Humor doesn't always have to be totally OOC. Earth and Water: Erol comes to Spargus to give Damas a message.
1. Disconnected

Here's the first in my set of Jak and Daxter oneshots. I'm signed up on the livejournal community fanfic100 to write 100 Jak and Daxter fics, so I might as well get started.

Fanfic100 prompt #71: Broken

**Disconnected**

"Oh, Razer! You're here!" the thug sputtered.

Razer gazed contemptuously at Shiv. "Of course I'm here, you clip-eared ignoramus. You called me."

Slowly and deliberately, Kras City's number one racer lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled smoke from his nostrils like some kind of well-groomed dragon.

"Well?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. "I'm here. What seems to be the problem?"

"Well, to be honest, it's UR-86." Shiv shifted nervously as he mentioned the deathbot.

Razer took another drag off his cigarette. "What, did he try and kill you again or something? What do you expect? He's a deathbot, not a love-and-kittensbot."

Although, Razer thought, that _would_ be a good idea. He had always liked cats; they were so independent, yet fluffy. Razer shook the thought from his mind. There would be ample time in the future to consider the brilliance of a love-and-kittensbot.

"No, it's not that." Shiv looked puzzled. "It's just that…something's wrong with him."

"Wrong with him?" Razer's face was perturbed.

"See for yourself," Shiv grumbled, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to the garage. "He's in the back."

Razer strode purposefully into the garage. If something were indeed wrong with UR-86, then that was something that needed to be looked into immediately. The Red Eco Cup Grand Prix was the next morning, and out of all of Mizo's racers participating in the event, UR-86 was the deadliest. If they were to beat Krew's upstart team and their top racer, Jak, the bucket of bolts would need to be in top condition.

As Razer approached the back of the garage, he noticed someone standing near a red and white car. It was UR-86; the robot's red and white steel body was shining as it leaned over the car.

"Well," Razer murmured. "It doesn't _look_ like there's anything wrong with you from here."

At the sound of his voice, UR-86's head clicked upward. Straightening it's metal body, it raised an arm and gave a verbal greeting.

"Y HALO THAR!"

Razer stopped in mid-stride, confused. He decided to ignore UR-86's strange greeting.

"Shiv informed me that there was something wrong with you." Razer's voice was deceptively friendly.

UR-86 beeped placidly, tilting its head to one side.

"I just want to sure that you are ready and able to dominate in tomorrow's race," Razer smiled, then frowned as his voice hardened. "There's a lot of money being bet tomorrow. Mizo's money."

UR-86's yellow eyes glowed unblinkingly as it stared. Razer continued.

"Therefore, I just want to make perfectly clear that if _anyone_ gets in your way, they are to be-"

"-PWNZED! LOL!" the deathbot finished triumphantly.

Razer blinked a few times in shock.

UR-86 raised one claw up, clacking it emphatically.

"SOMEONE SET UP US THE BOMB," it elaborated.

"I…see," Razer gave a strained chuckle.

Withdrawing another cigarette from his jacket, Razer gave UR-86 a piercing look.

"Are you sure you are functioning properly, UR-86?"

"WHAT YOU SAY!"

Razer shook his head. "Now I'm convinced. You _are _malfunctioning."

"O RLY?" queried UR-86.

Razer nodded solemnly. "Yes, really."

"O RLY?"

"_Yes. Really,_" Razer gritted through his teeth.

UR-86 paused for a moment, then responded. "O RLY?"

Razer's fists quivered, his entire face contorted into a mask of anger. However, the well-dressed man's fury did nothing to ruffle UR-86, who continued to stare. Finally, Razer admitted defeat. His palms opened and his grimace subsided into a sneer. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he grumbled in a very tiny voice.

"Ya rly."

"LOL!"

Razer massaged his temples with gloved hands. This was getting out of hand. There was something familiar about the nonsensical gibberish that was coming out of UR-86's vocal synthesizer, but what it was Razer did not know. Razer had to find the source of UR-86's new vocabulary before it drove him insane.

"Perhaps we should crack open your head and rearrange your circuits, hmm? Maybe that would fix our little problem."

"STFU!" UR-86's eyes slitted threateningly.

"I suppose not. It would be improper to damage Mizo's new investment." Razer flicked the cigarette away with a disdainful sniff.

"ROFLMAO!"

"Rofflemao?" Razer scoffed. "That's not even a real word."

" :-P " UR-86 responded.

There was silence for a moment.

"…How in the hell do you even pronounce that?"

UR-86's head lowered as he considered that. Then Razer saw it, and he understood everything. There was a cable attached to the deathbot's head. It ran down the length of UR-86's body and disappeared into a jack in the wall.

"Well well well…" Razer purred. "What do we have here?"

UR-86 cocked its head again. Razer gestured at the cable, wagging one finger in a disapproving manner.

"It looks like you've caught a virus on the Internet. Your systems appear to be corrupted."

"NO WAI!"

"I'm going to have a talk with Shiv," Razer said as he walked towards the exit. "I'll have him reformat your hard drive and remove your online access. It'll only cause trouble if you stay connected."

"Good night, UR-86," Razer waved mockingly as he walked out into the night.

UR-86 stood still for several seconds, rotating its hands restlessly. With a jolt it stopped. Yellow eyes flared brightly as UR-86 clutched its head in alarm.

"OH NOEZ, MY PR0N!1!1"

End.


	2. Honest Feedback

I apologize in advance for this. I don't like it as much as the last one, but the idea made me giggle. I just don't like how I wrote it… but hopefully you'll like it more than I did. See the end for the inspiration for this piece.

This is set sometime in during Jak 3.

Fanfic100 prompt #62-Spring

_**Honest Feedback**_

"Jak, I've been wondering…" Keira trailed off, glancing down the bar of the Naughty Ottsel.

Jak looked up from his own drink. "What is it?"

The girl shrugged. "It's just…you never talk about those two years…while you were in prison."

Jak frowned slightly. Noticing this, Keira quickly shook her head, gesturing with her free hand.

"Nevermind. I shouldn't have asked-" she stopped as Jak's expression softened and he raised a hand.

"It's all right. I don't mind," Jak sighed. "I just don't usually think about that time. It…wasn't pleasant."

Keira nodded.

"They did a lot of experiments on me. Dark Eco, stuff like that. You can never get used to Dark Eco, every time was just like the first, maybe worse. My veins felt like they were on fire during those sessions. Sometimes I wished I would just slip away and not wake up."

Jak took a nonchalant gulp from his drink before continuing.

"It wasn't all fun and experiments. The Krimzon Guard are pretty good when it comes to physical and psychological torture. Our old friend Errol was the worst."

"What did-?"

"Let's just say that Errol was really into 'musical theater'," Jak shuddered, resting a palm over his face.

Keira's eyebrows contracted in confusion. Three seconds later, her eyes widened abruptly in shock.

"Jak, you don't mean-?"

Jak looked back up, noticing the look on Keira's face. His own face quickly shifted from haunted to embarrassed.

"No no no! Nothing like that!" Jak waved his hands frantically in front of his face. "I mean he really liked _musical theater_."

Keira cocked her head to one side. "Meaning?"

"Errol considered himself something of a playwright. He would test out his songs on the prisoners to get 'honest feedback'."

Jak shook his head again. "There was that one time he sang the title song from his latest play. It was some kind of terrible homage to Baron Praxis and the Krimzon Guard."

Jak hugged himself, his eyes glazing. "I can still hear his voice…"

* * *

_Jak lay strapped to a table deep in the depths of the Baron's prison, groaning. He stared straight ahead, his head held in place and unable to blink by a number of straps and hooks. In front of him, a red and silver armored man stood, his face covered by a rather frightening mask. _

"_All right, freak. Let me know what you think of these stanzas." Errol said silkily, flipping up his mask and revealing a look of cold concentration on his angular face. "And remember, do try to be honest."_

_With a flamboyant gesture, Errol began to sing._

"_Springtime for Praxis and Krimzon Guards,"_

_Jak's eyes rolled in their sockets as he desperately tried to escape from his tormentor, who stepped lightly forward until he was next to his victim._

"_Winter for Dark Eco freeeeeaks," Errol sang, emphasizing the line by flicking one of Jak's ears._

"_Springtime for Praxis and **Krimzon Guaaaaaaaards…**"_

_Jak winced as Errol took a deep breath._

_Come on guardsmen, go into your dance."_

_And dance he did. The Krimzon Guard captain tapped lightly and expertly, his boots clacking against the metal floor. He tapped lightly over to Jak's left, then planted his feet and saluted._

"_I was born in the Outskirts and that is why they call me Bert."_

_Errol pirouetted over to Jak's other side to deliver the next line to his captive audience. _

"_Don't be stupid, be a smarty, come and join the Krimzon Guardy!"_

_So saying, Errol continued his relentless dance solo. Jak gave a silent scream as he slipped into unconsciousness, accompanied by the endless tapping of Errol's boots.

* * *

_

Keira stared at Jak for several seconds. "That's…_horrible_." She squeezed Jak's hand to calm him.

Jak ran his other hand through his hair, nodding wordlessly.

There was silence for a few moments, broken by the entrance of a two-foot tall ottsel.

"Hey you two," Daxter smiled widely.

"Oh, hi Daxter!" Keira responded.

Jak attempted to collect himself. "So, uh, what's up?" he asked unconcernedly.

Daxter held up a piece of paper in one hand. "I just found this _weird_ flyer by the door."

"What kind of flyer?"

"I dunno," Daxter squinted at the paper. "Looks like an ad for some kind of play."

"The color drained from Jak's face. "Play?"

"Yeah, weird title though," Daxter muttered. "It's called 'Springtime for Praxis'."

**THUMP!** Jak fainted.

"Was it something I said?"

**End.

* * *

**

Just to let you know, I saw the Producers on Thursday, and a vision of Errol singing a version of Springtime for Hitler imbedded itself in my head. I couldn't resist.


	3. Earth and Water

_A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I updated. Here's the newest chapter of Jak Snapshots. The idea came to me, and I had to write something. Someone else has probably thought of it, but enjoy it anyway. If there's any glaring mistakes, bring 'em to my attention._

* * *

_**Earth and Water**_

"_Oy, chief_!"

The king of Spargus looked up from where he sat lost in thought. "I'm listening, Kleiver. What is it?"

The portly Wastelander shrugged, jerking a thumb back over his shoulder toward the elevator that led down from Damas's throne room to the city streets. "There's some bloke here to see ya."

Damas raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he asked, getting to his feet. "What about?"

"It's a messenger," Kleiver explained. "From the Big Smoke."

The king didn't seem pleased. "A messenger from Haven?"

Kleiver nodded. Damas simply looked down at the ground for a few seconds, then back at the other man. "Well, then. It would be rude to keep him waiting, now wouldn't it?"

* * *

The messenger and his entourage stood out amongst the proud citizens of Spargus thanks to their blood-red armor. The Krimzon guards were sweating profusely in the morning sun, to their great discomfort. The messenger himself was of slim build and wore a mask, which he opened to reveal a sneering face as Damas approached. He opened his mouth to speak, but Damas interrupted him. 

"Before you say anything, guardsman, know that while in Spargus, everyone, even envoys, are responsible for anything stupid they might say while on its streets."

Erol nodded.

"Now," Damas continued, his face mirroring the contempt in Erol's. "What's your message?"

Erol smirked, spreading his hands. "Earth and water."

Damas blinked. "Is that it?"

"…and Eco."

"You came all the way from Haven City for earth and water… and Eco?" the king snorted.

"Didn't you hear him tell you not to say anything stupid?" Kleiver shook his head. "Daft git."

Erol growled, a hand on his sidearm. "What makes this fat oaf think that he can get away with speaking to me in such a way?"

Growling just as fiercely, Kleiver took a step forward, causing Erol's guards to raise their weapons. "I'm bigger than you."

"I can see that."

Damas quickly intervened. "Let's take a walk, to cool our heads."

Grudgingly, Erol and Kleiver followed Damas, followed by the Krimzon guards and a number of Spargus's citizens. Erol quickened his pace so he was walking in step with the king.

"If you value the lives of your people, Damas, then listen to me very carefully. Haven City is at war with the Metal Heads. The Baron's forces are more than enough to trample and throw aside any city that does not stand beside Haven in this struggle."

Damas frowned, but did not say anything as the group entered a clearing near the center of town. Near the center of the clearing was a large pit, twenty feet across.

Erol glanced at the hole. "That's a nice pit."

"Thanks. We just had it installed."

"Anyway," Erol continued. "All that Baron Praxis requires from you is this: Earth, water, and Eco. Simply 'donate' these resources to our cause as a token of submission to Baron Praxis."

"Submission?" Damas rasped in a hollow voice. He stopped walking, allowing Erol to overtake him. "Now that's a bit of a problem."

Erol glared, turning to face the reluctant king, who continued blithely.

"Now, rumor has it that Kras City has already turned you down. And if that wretched hive of scum and villainy has found that kind of nerve…" he trailed off, shrugging. "And of course, we Sparguns have our reputation to consider."

The messenger nodded, narrowing his eyes. "Choose your next words carefully, Damas. They may be your last as King."

Damas turned away from Erol. A breeze swept into the city, kicking up a dramatically cinematic halo of dust around the king. Searching for an answer, Damas made eye contact with every one of his subjects that stood before him.

He suddenly whirled around, pointing his war staff at Erol's throat and forcing him towards the edge of the pit. Taking this as a signal, his warriors did the same to the Krimzon guards.

"Madman…you're a madman!" Erol protested.

Damas did not heed him. "Earth and water," he said, nodding towards the abyss. You'll find plenty of both down there. We'll even throw some Eco barrels down with you for good measure."

"No one, Havenite or Wastelander, _no one_ threatens a messenger!"

"_You dare…_" Damas growled, his voice harsh. "_Praxis steals my birthright and my son, and you come here making demands, threatening my people with slavery and death. _

"And he called me fat!" Kleiver piped up indignantly before Damas silenced him with a glare._  
_

_"Oh, I've chosen my words carefully, Guardsman. Perhaps you-"_ he jabbed Erol in the chest. "_-should have done the same."_

"This is blasphemy!" Erol sputtered. "This is madness!"

"_Madness?_"

Damas stared into the man's eyes before lowering his staff. Erol relaxed as the weapon moved away from his throat.

But his relief was short-lived. Damas inhaled deeply, his eyes aflame, as he unleashed his full fury.

"_**THIS…IS…SPARGUS!!!"**_

Damas lashed out with a booted foot, catching the Havenite right in the sternum. With an uncharacteristic wail, Erol vanished into the darkness, followed quickly by his entourage of Krimzon guards. At Damas's signal, a number of Spargus's citizens dropped a few barrels of Dark Eco down after them.

"You know what?" Kleiver asked his king. "I'm getting a bit peckish. We should get some food in our bellies.

Damas nodded, rose to his full height and addressed the crowd.

"Sparguns! Ready your breakfast and eat hearty. _**FOR TONIGHT, WE DINE IN HELL!!**_"

The assembled citizens cheered wildly.

* * *

"A pit?" Baron Praxis asked. 

Erol nodded.

"He dropped you into a pit?"

"He just had it installed," Erol explained, wincing. Praxis simply looked at his captain's broken arm and leg appraisingly.

"Well, that settles it," a thin reedy man piped up from the other end of the table. "We should attack at once."

"For once, I agree with Count Veger," Erol offered, fiddling with a loose tooth. "This insult cannot pass."

The Baron leaned back in his chair, twirling his moustache idly.

"Sir?"

"My Baron?"

Praxis glanced at his subordinates, then shook his head. "No, there will be no attack." He stood up, walking over to the large window next to his chair.

"But Baron Praxis-" Erol protested.

"It's no use begging," Praxis held up a hand. "I've already decided."

"If I may, Baron Praxis," Veger cleared his throat. "May I inquire as to _why_ there will be no attack?"

"It's simple," Praxis grunted. "If this 300 parody goes on much longer, I'm going to end up wearing nothing but some gaudy jewelry and solid gold panties. And _that_ is undignified for a man of my stature. I'm a father, for Mar's sake."

Veger and Erol could only nod.

* * *

_AN: This fic was written in honor of a certain movie's release on DVD. Please read and review, hmm?_


End file.
